


Aftermath

by Hinawadidntdie4this



Category: Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Domestic, Fix-It of Sorts, Kinda, M/M, beatty lives but he’s like. Fucked up, im so sorry for these wack ass tags, montag sings and it’s nice, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinawadidntdie4this/pseuds/Hinawadidntdie4this
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, the two ex-firemen find solace in each other’s familiarity and forge a path back to normalcy one step at a time.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Beatty and Montag getting used to each other again and finding solace in each other in the aftermath of the war makes me so happy ugh  
> (Redemption arc of sorts??)

The house in which they chose to settle after they found each other in the flattened city was old and creaking, there were leaks in the roof when it rained, and it was drafty in the seemingly perpetual cold.  
Montag— (Guy,) Beatty corrected himself internally— always fretted over the gas fires in the stove and heater, as though either of them were ignorant enough about fire to be careless with it, and he himself worried quietly over the integrity of the house’s structure when it stormed. There were rats and birds’ nests and spiders living in the walls  
But—  
But. It was quiet. It was peaceful and a good bit away from anywhere else and it was just them left to heal and find some semblance of relief from what had happened and what they had done to each other in their younger years.  
Beatty himself could scarcely see anymore, too blind even to read due to the burns and scars marring the whole left and partial right side of his face and body, still colored an angry red after the years of healing. Regardless, the thought of having books near at all times gave him a sort of comfort.  
Montag— (Guy,) Beatty corrected again, more insistently this time— was always willing to read to him if he asked him to. Eager, even. He began to smile despite himself at the thought of his old companion, although a sense of disbelief still rested under the surface of his content. It was difficult to believe that after what he’d done and what he’d said, the man was still willing to offer him forgiveness and care in his state of disability, and later even his love. It was truly just too much to believe.  
A voice came from down below. (Guy,) he reminded himself, closing his eyes and taking in the sound. He paused then and strained to listen. (Is he singing?) He thought incredulously. His smile widened and his heart turned itself inside out at the sound. Guy’s singing— although raspy from 10 years of firefighting and off pitch by a lot— was the best music he’d heard in years, he decided, as it filled and warmed the empty halls and cold rooms.  
As the light from the newly rising sun made its way in through the dirty windows, and Guy’s (blurry) face appeared in his now-open doorway to beam at his wretched form, he had hope that maybe, maybe, this truly was their second chance at normalcy and happiness.


End file.
